


Hola, Soy Mingyu. Can you say "firearm"?

by JesusCheese



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Car Accidents, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesusCheese/pseuds/JesusCheese
Summary: As his ears rang, the water overtook his lungs and the blackness, his mind.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Seokmin | DK
Comments: 16
Kudos: 35





	Hola, Soy Mingyu. Can you say "firearm"?

**Author's Note:**

> This one actually came from a quick-write in English class that I transformed into a fanfic. Thanks for the inspiration, Mr. P. I dig your class.
> 
> PROMPT: You are the owner of a magic backpack; every morning you stick your hand in it and it contains exactly what you need for the day. One morning it contains a weapon...

It wasn’t ever the same.

Some days, it was cash to support a member who couldn’t foot the bill at a spontaneous post-practice dinner. Other days, it was a shirt to replace one that Mingyu would later spill tea all over, only perpetuating the ever-annoying clumsy trope. He supposed that it was a trope for a reason, though. Mingyu never knew what the backpack would give me or how he was going to use it, but the backpack itself knew. It always knew.

On the bitterly cold Thursday, he woke up to a cold bed and about thirty texts from the group chat from the members all telling him where they'd gone and how long they were planning to stay. Most were away for just a day with friends, some going to the movies, all doing just as they pleased on their rare day off. Mingyu...well, Mingyu had chosen to sleep, which left him with the sole responsibility of Making sure Dokyeom didn't kick the can.

He pushed himself up, clearing his throat and finishing the half-empty glass of water on his bedstand. He frowned. Half empty. Mingyu had always been superstitious, so he knew then and there that choosing the word "half-empty" instead of "half-full" meant that he would have to work extra hard to turn a bitter winter morning babysitting a chest cold- ridden Dokyeom into a somewhat enjoyable day. His extra sleep was already the first step. Checking the bag hanging on his door was his second.

Only, it didn't make his day better. Most days, it was like opening a present on Christmas day. If the backpack knew he was sad, it might've been a candy bar that he'd been craving. If he was going to bust up his shoes that day, it would give him a replacement pair. Seeing the item in the pack was a precursor to his day and his favorite morning ritual.

But there was a gun.

And Mingyu hated guns. Guns meant shooting and shooting meant death. What the /hell/ would he need a gun for? His phone buzzed and he was reminded of his primary task for the day- take care of DK. "If you think I'm going on some sort of rabbit hunting trip, you're dead wrong," he warned the inanimate sack. Why would he ever need a firearm?

"Hey, DK," he called into his dark room, leaning against the doorframe. It even /smelled/ like sick in there- chest rub, the distinctive scent of a heater that had finally made it's winter debut despite the singer's roomate's affinity for all things winter. If Chan was finally willing to break out the heater, that meant that DK must've been really feeling the sick last night. "Wake up so I can tell your mother you're not dead."

"My mom?" DK grumbled, poking his face out from underneath the covers. His cheeks were cherry red and his hair messy.

Mingyu frowned. "Jeonghan," he corrected. "But I suppose I can tell your biological mother too." He reached out and laid a cool hand on his forehead.

"No, she'd just worry," he sighed, slapping away Mingyu's hand and pushing his face back into his pillow.

"Frankly I'm a little worried, dude. You feel like you have a fever."

"That's just how sickness is," Dokyeom protested, fighting off Mingyu as he made to lay another hand on the small of his back under his shirt. Even without touching him, Mingyu knew that the heat was billowing. "What time is it?"

"Nearly two now," Mingyu answered, checking the digital clock. Ahh, the joy of break days. "The rest of the members are out being productive."

"And you're my babysitter?"

"And I'm your babysitter," Mingyu confirmed. "Come on, let's go to the living room."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's winter and it's depressing as hell laying in your bed all stuffed up. You need warm tea, blankets, and a movie in the nice living room. Plus, it's going to snow today, and our window looks fantastically beautiful when it snows. No choices here." He hefted his little brother up over his shoulder, feeling only marginally bad when he groaned out a complaint along the lines of 'chest pain' and 'so tired'. He really must have been feeling horrible.

Once situated, Mingyu went off to retrieve a sports drink, a pain killer, a fever reducer, and chest rub like the true healer he was. He got back, however, to find that Dokyeom had already fallen into a scrunched-nose, huffy-breathed sleep, head positioned in a way that would certainly hurt his neck in a few minutes. "I'd feel bad waking you up to ask for your consent, but you sound like shit, DK, so you're going to have to forgive me." He pulled up his sleep shirt and applied a liberal amount of anti-congestion rub along his sternum and collarbones. "I guess you can take your pills when you wake up. Until then, we're watching what I want to watch and telling the rest of them that I've got full control."

He laid DK's head on his thigh, surprised that he didn't wake up even then, and laid a blanket over him- big and easy to cuddle with but light so he didn't get overheated. "See, he's fine," he sneered, taking a picture to send.

He was kind of a pro at babysitting.

...

"Yeah, I don't know, he just seems like he's not getting any better," Mingyu frowned, laying another hand on his forehead despite doing it close to twenty times before. Maybe it would go from a red hot oven to actual normal skin if he tried enough. Maybe. "This doesn't seem like a cold."

"Have you taken his temperature?" Hoshi suggested. "There's a group of us at dinner right now, and we could come home, but it's about an hour away."

"Why in the hell would you eat dinner an hour away?"

"Because we heard it was good and wanted to get away from you," Joshua's voice piped up.

"Funny," Mingyu deadpanned, pulling the thermometer from under his tongue when it beeped. His eyes went wide. "Yeah...we don't have an hour."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"His fever's at 104.6."

"Jesus fucking christ!" somebody called.

"How long's he been asleep."

"I don't know! Since...since I brought him to the living room to watch movies and stuff?"

"When was that?"

"Around two?"

"You need to take him to the hospital, Gyu. Grab the keys and go, and take the medications that you've given him. The doctors will need to know."

There was something in the urgency of Seungcheol's voice that told him wrong, wrong, wrong. Everything was so, so wrong. He thought back to the bag in his bedroom as he gathered the pill bottles and raced to retrieve the black sack full of nothing but a killing machine. He dropped the pills in. The backpack was never wrong. The backpack was never wrong, so for some reason, he needed this gun. Would he have to threaten a doctor to treat his brother? No...no, stupid. It's their job.

Would he need to kill an attacker?

Maybe.

He slung it over his shoulder. No time to dwell on it, though. He easily scooped his friend and shivered at the heat billowing off of him. Had he gotten hotter in the two minutes it had taken him to make that phone call and grab the bag? Were those two minutes enough to kill him?

He made it into the car and slammed on the gas, shooting off in the direction of the closest hospital. The ice on the roads occasionally sent him into a precarious near-spin out, but he never did actually get to that point. He opened his phone again. "Are you headed home?"

"On our way to the dorm, yeah," Hoshi said. "Seungcheol's speeding."

"Don't speed," Mingyu shot back despite the fact that he was currently doing the same thing. "I've got him in the backseat headed to the hospital."

"Which one?"

"The one over the river? Namgang or something along the lines?"

"I know the one," Seungcheol said. "I'll drop somebody off there to be with the two of you before heading to the dorm, alright?"

"Alright," Mingyu agreed, seeing the hospital in the distance, it's lights beckoning him like a beacon. "I'm almost there. I'll talk to you again soon."

"Drive Saf-" SNAP.

Mingyu's eyes snapped back to the road from where his thumb was hovering over the red button just as the car lurched forward and down a steep decline, tires having no purchase on the slick roads as the car plunged further and further down towards the icy river. No, no, NO! NO NO NO. He slammed on the brakes, honked his horn, tried to undo the seatbelt, but nothing could fix the situation that he- no, no they- were in, especially when the car broke the surface of the ice. They were in the river.

The car was already cold, partially trapped under the ice as water trickled and then streamed in through the passenger window. That window never did seal properly.

“Mingyu? What happened.” Dokyeom asked, finally awake. Funny that after all that sleep, a car crash was the only thing to rouse him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Mingyu assured him, reaching the phone that had been flung to the feet of the passenger seat. “It’s fine.” He managed to grab it. The call had ended and the screen was busted to all hell from hitting the window- another probable cause of the now constant flow of icy river water. Mingyu looked to the road I had driven off of. No cars. No people. No witnesses. Most importantly, no help.

The cabin was filling so much that it was already to his shins, toes numb from the icy chill. There was no getting out.

“What happened?” DK asked again, more fear in his tone. Why. Why. Why. Why did he have to finally be lucid? Why did he have to be awake? Why did he have to be sick? Why did Mingyu have to be home alone? Why did it have to be so icy out.

“We just fell. We just fell, but we’ll get out. It’ll be alright.”

“How? I'm wet. Mingyu, Mingyu, I'm wet!”

His eyes snapped to the back. He was right. The back window was beginning to give into the pressure, and Mingyu suddenly was struck with a thought. The gun.

Of course! Why wouldn’t the backpack have given him a hammer instead? It would've invoked a lot less fear and confusion and achieved the same end goal.

He took the weapon and checked the magazine. Two bullets. While Mingyu may have not had a lot of experience with firearms, he knew enough about life-or-death situations to know which one he'd prefer. He immediately fired into the passenger window as it seemed the easiest for him to escape from. He already had a plan- get out, get Dokyeom- except...except that didn’t help at all. If anything, the car was sinking quicker, water gushing from the bullet hole and car tilting precariously. What the fuck?

It was up to both of their chests then, Dokyeom having pushed himself up to reach more oxygen and keep his head above the icy liquid death.

They were going to drown. There was no saving them.

Mingyu's eyes widened in realization. He felt bile creeping up despite not having had time to eat lunch that day and his heart hammering in his chest. There were two bullets for a reason. Two bullets, two passengers, and a horrible, sickening irony. The backpack knew. It always knew.

The backpack knew and didn’t tell him? It just gave him a gun? It gave him a gun instead of a flotation device, instead of medication, instead of a hero? No time. No time. None at all.

He had to decide who got the last bullet, and it didn’t take long at all. Dokyeom was sobbing, already gurgling on the salty fluid. He was sick and in pain and fucking drowning in the back seat of Seungcheol's hyundai. Mingyu reached out and held his hand, heart beating erratically.

“It’ll be okay, DK. You won’t drown. You’ll be okay.”

“Mingyu, help-" he gurgled, pushing himself up and spitting. "God, save us!"

“I love you. I’ll be with you soon, Dokyeom. I'll be right there..”

As his ears rang, the water overtook his lungs and the blackness, his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
